


Drowning

by pendragonfics



Series: - ̗  Bruce Banner Bingo 2019  ̖- [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bruce Banner Bingo 19, Bruce Banner Bingo 2019, Cutesy, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 18:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: A job opportunity brings you to New York.PROMPT:au: soulmates





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> This fills in the prompt: "au: soulmates" on the 2019 Bruce Banner Bingo challenge <3
> 
> also, this takes place sometime around 2012 i dont make the rules im just nostalgic

If there was ever a truth, one truth, and one acknowledged widely, it was that people were destined to be with one person. It was supposed to be something romantic, like penguins sharing eggs with one another, or that feeling that you get when you get a hug when you really need it. But to be completely honest, it wasn’t all it cracked up to be. Perhaps it was because you, a wizened human well-versed in singledom, decided it was at the ripe age of twenty-two, when your friend’s to-be soulmate tricked you into thinking _you_ were theirs and absconded with your friend, never to be seen again once using you like a broken glove in a home hair dye pack. Or maybe it was because now, at almost thirty, you were still feeling like you had to look for ‘the one’.

According to your older sister, it felt like drowning. Of course, you’d never drowned before, but from all those videos on swimming safety that they showed in gym class, it was like…a panic attack. And then finally breathing in when you’re not supposed to. To be completely honest, that explanation was very much a factor that came into mind when you _didn’t_ want to meet a soulmate.

You really should have stayed at your old job. Being a museum curator at Boston was great. Amazing, really. You lived just outside of the city, had good rent, lovely neighbors who didn’t rub their soulmate-finding lives in your face, and anything and everything else you could ever want.

But the job in New York…

Sitting on the subway on the way to the formerly-Stark-now-Avengers tower, you really doubted whether or not you were duped by a too-good-to-be-true offer of the 80K paycheck and included healthcare, to be filmed for a sick joke on a prank show. But ten minutes later, entering the foyer, you were greeted by a body-less voice as others milled around.

“Welcome to the Avengers Tower, Mr. Stark will be delighted to know of your arrival,” a female voice spoke.

You frowned. “God?”

A new voice laughed somewhere nearby, and you looked up to see him. Mr. Stark. The former Merchant of Death and current Iron Man. He wore a burgundy suit, black shirt, gold tie that looked as tacky as it was fashion on his person.

“Mr. Stark!” you feel a wash of anxiety come over you as you realised you said was aloud. “It’s, uh, a pleasure to be here, sir.”

He laughed again. You’re sure that a man that makes what he does in a minute can laugh all that he pleases. You extended a hand to him, as you always did to new faces, but he brushed your hand aside and steered you toward the glass elevator in the center of the room.

“I’m just glad you were available at such short notice,” he says, punching in a code in the elevator panel. Within seconds, you’re ascending beside Tony Stark into the heights of the Tower. “It’s not often curators answer my call, but if you’re as good as your recommendations say, I’ve hit the jackpot.”

As the elevator whirrs up through the levels, only briefly allowing you a glimpse at each floor it passes - minimally-styled laboratories, lounge suites, a futuristic living room - you turn to your new boss. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Stark, _why_ does a man like you need a…person like me?”

“You mean, a genius in your field?” He snorts, waving his hand like a man haggling at the markets. “And please, Mr. Stark was my dad; call me Tony.”

“Okay, Tony…” you shuffle your feet as you pass another floor with immaculate interior design, “I’m just a curator. I get it that you’re a superhero and a very rich man, but I’m used to managing a team of curators back in Massachusetts. What makes you think I’m the one for your…uh, requirements?”

The elevator comes to a stop, sleek and slow. As the doors open, Tony walks out, and you follow, the last word hanging hard on your tongue, a strange feeling echoing at the back of your mouth. Before you, the room was modeled like an art studio, with white walls and a floor, bright lights attached to the ceiling. But littering room, some in aged boxes, some bare and dusty, were so many things which you recognised from the museum you used to work for.

“Where did you acquire half of this?” you ask, eyes wandering. There was a world war two plane propeller, the make, and model of a British plane, and beside it, a box labeled _postcards_ and while there was an order to the chaos, it looked so vast. “These are antiques!”

Tony Stark shrugged. “Family heirlooms, mostly. Some of the things in the back, I bought from dealers. They used to be Rogers’, back in the day. Other things have been gifts from S.H.I.E.L.D.”

You frown. “Who?”

“Think _Men in Black_ , but no Will Smith.” He replied, moving past you. “…I saw him milling around this morning - _Bruce!_ ” He shouted.

You heard a muttering, a clatter, and a soft voice cursing in a way in which made the sound of curse words almost the opposite of what they were supposed to be. A head popped up from a pile nearby, with bright brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and a head full of curls that looked almost haywire with a disorganised disarray that looked like, if attempted to be repeated by anyone else, painstakingly hard to replicate.

“I’m right here, Tony, you don’t have to yell,” the man, Bruce, huffed. You weren’t sure if he was _the_ Bruce, the one everyone knew from the Incident in New York, but you were sure you saw a tinge of green, as if a blush, on his cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know you,” he said, noticing your eyes upon him.

“That could be because I hired __________, starting today,” Tony replied light on his feet and tongue. He weaved toward Bruce, almost leading him toward where you stood, unsure if you were allowed to move with all of the antique items precariously placed around you. “C’mon, introduce yourself!”

“You must be Dr. Banner,” you supplement, giving him a small smile.

“My identity presides itself, I suppose,” he replies.

You shrug, nonchalant. “If it’s any consolation, I’m a fan.”

He wades through the relics, and pushing his unrolled shirtsleeve back up his arm, he reaches out to shake your hand. You’re sure he’s about to thank you for your kind words, but as soon as your hands touch, you get a feeling.

It’s almost like that time at the lake down by your parents’ old house. It was midwinter, and yet the ice cracked under your feet, and you fell into the freezing waters. Except for this time, your Papa isn’t here to fish you from the depths. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races and for some reason, you can’t find words, but all of them come to mind. You feel your hand get too warm in his hand, and full of pins and needles but very still.

You take a breath.

“You -,” Bruce babbles, repeating the word like a broken record.

But your mind is swimming, just like he is most likely too, and you can’t help but feel like this is some cruel irony brought upon you by a higher power, dumb luck or just…fate. You weren’t ever a fan of soulmates, never into the idea that people had to have a person for them, a match that made them feel less alone in the world. But now, with the feeling your sister told you, you can’t help but feel differently.

“Do you drink coffee?” you blurt out.

“Flat white,” Bruce replies, “You?”

You nod. “Let’s get some time.”

He beams, and finally, releases your hand from the contact that made the realisation come to be. But as your skin leaves his, that feeling in your chest doesn’t go away. It’s not fake. It’s not like that time, it’s _real_.

“I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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